


Holmes 2.0

by melonbutterfly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chocolate, Drug Addiction, Internal Monologue, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of the Holmes brothers, Sherlock is the one Greg meets first. He's obnoxious and arrogant and, unfortunately, just as brilliant as he claims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes 2.0

Of the Holmes brothers, Sherlock is the one Greg meets first. He's obnoxious and arrogant and, unfortunately, just as brilliant as he claims. Nevertheless, Greg wouldn't ever let a civilian get involved in an investigation; he's a professional, after all, and fuck, they could forget their cases holding up in court no matter how watertight if the lawyer gets wind of a civilian coming into contact with the evidence at any point in the investigation.

This is how Greg meets Mycroft. Indirectly, of course, so he doesn't know it at the time: the Chief Inspector tells him in a sharp tone that betrays his displeasure that from now on, Greg is to work together with Holmes. In order to make it at least halfway legitimate (nobody can deny Holmes' skill, but that's not worth much without rank, without some way to classify and legalise his involvement), they give him the rank of Consulting Detective. Sounds enough of something to hold up in court, but doesn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things.

The Chief Inspector is satisfied with this; he's not the one who's going to have to deal with Holmes directly. Already, Greg has received five complains about the man, and he's only met him once. Not exactly the beginning of a beautiful friendship by any definition.

The next time Holmes crashes one of Greg's crime scenes, Greg is a little better prepared; he's decided that, since he's going to have to deal with the man anyway, there's no use in getting worked up over him. Anyways, once you know not to expect him to behave like a reasonable adult, he's actually somewhat amusing. If he were a little less inclined to revel in his own brilliance, Greg could actually genuinely enjoy his company.

If it weren't for the drugs.

Holmes smokes like a chimney. Greg doesn't mind all that much – he's ruining his own health, and anyway, Greg can't exactly complain, being a smoker himself. Anyways, this isn't the problem, even if it is a little bothersome at times how many cigarette breaks the man needs. At least he always returns with some sort of epiphany, so there must be something to it for him.

Greg is a police inspector and a detective; he's seen his fair share of addicts in his life. He can identify an addict just by looking him in the face – there's something about the pallor, the redness around the eyes, an expression in them that makes addiction look very different from somebody who is merely overworked and insomniac. Greg doesn't see it the first time because it isn't there, and it takes him a while to notice afterwards. It's a sliding scale, he recognises in hindsight. It makes him feel a little better, and a little worse. He should have paid more attention.

Seven months into their partnership – for lack of better word – Greg just can't deal with it anymore. He does have a temper, but he isn't prone to losing it, at least not by accident. This is the only reason he manages to wait until he can get Holmes into relative privacy; no point in giving his detectives any more reason to despise the man.

It's not satisfying – losing ones temper rarely is, he has found, which is why he tends to refrain from doing it. Holmes, it turns out, is even more exasperating in a fight; not just because he refuses to acknowledge his own emotions (he has them, he gets agitated, but he pretends he's all logic – which hasn’t worked out for the Vulcans either, and they're a species more equipped for the purging of emotion) but because he claims he's being entirely reasonable about using. He's a liar. Nobody, _nobody_ uses merely to enhance their performance; there is always a deeper, underlying issue, such as the fear of being a failure or the need to flee from reality. Greg sees both in Holmes. Besides, the outright, full-frontal denial? Classic addict behaviour.

Holmes doesn't seem to be a prime candidate (or any candidate at all, in fact) for insecurity, but that doesn't have to mean anything at all. Greg tells him this, says that there's no reason to be ashamed if Holmes can only acknowledge that he has a problem.

He doesn't, of course. There are a couple of more fights, and while Greg takes care to keep them away from his department, they still know exactly what's going on. They're detectives as well, after all; Greg would seriously reconsider working with them if they couldn't recognise an addict when they see one. He nips any complaints in the bud, but there's really only so much he can do.

And then they get word that Holmes' dealer has been caught, and he's singing like a beautiful, particularly talkative songbird. At that point, Greg really has little choice in the matter; he takes the search warrant, a team of specialists and ransacks Holmes' apartment.

Of course they don't find anything. Not the first time. But it turns out Holmes wasn't particularly smart about this (no surprise there, which is another symptom); he let one of the dealer's boys, a homeless kid they catch due to the dealer's extensive confession, see where he hides his stuff. Greg can't believe anyone could be so reckless or arrogant as to keep the same hiding place even after a bust – then again, put like that, he really can believe it after all.

The second search is more fruitful.

Mycroft Holmes comes to Greg's office while Sherlock is in the interrogation room, _not_ being interrogated, because unfortunately Greg hasn't managed to find anyone whose impartiality he can trust in the two hours since the arrest, himself included.

Greg has no idea who or what Mycroft Holmes exactly is – he suspects nobody really knows. From his bearing Greg has an inclination that the man is important, and the way he carefully phrases his _requests_ tells him just how much so.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Greg says.

This brings Holmes 2.0 up short for just a second in the manner of somebody unused to being told no. Then he tilts his head and looks at Greg in a way that is very reminiscent of his brother. "You... care about Sherlock," he says.

It takes Greg a moment to remember that Holmes' first name is Sherlock (seriously, what kind of name is that anyway), but when he does he inclines his head. "Of course I do. He's insufferable." To anyone who doesn't know Holmes- _Sherlock_ , this wouldn't make any sense.

To his brother, it clearly does; he seems pleasantly surprised, a small smile curling up one corner of his mouth. It transforms his whole face for just a brief moment. Afterwards his entire demeanour shifts. Greg can't quite tell how, or from where to where, but it does.

"My brother... is troubled," Holmes 2.0 says carefully.

"Of course he is," Greg agrees dryly. "I've never met anybody who is so averse to his own emotions."

Holmes 2.0 inclines his head. "I would consider it a... personal favour if this investigation would come to an end, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

It sounds vaguely like a threat; Greg is well aware that Holmes 2.0 doesn't need to ask. If he wants to, he can just make it happen; he didn't even need to come personally. Greg is really curious why he nevertheless chose to not just use his connection and instead came personally.

But he did, and this gives Greg the opportunity to refuse – it will be entirely futile and he might very well make himself an enemy right now, but he just can't let this go on. If Holmes continues like this, he'll end up dead before the end of the year, Greg is sure of at least that much. The escalation is evident and obvious.

Greg says, "I'm sorry, I can't do that."

Holmes 2.0's demeanour turns to ice. He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't say a word, but still, Greg feels the urge to shift, to maybe reconsider. Instead of doing either, he leans forwards and explains. "If I let him go now, he'll continue as he has, and it will be the death of him. I'm not going to be responsible for that, not even peripherally."

There. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, not letting Holmes 2.0's gaze go. Greg's pinned the whole thing entirely on him now; if Holmes 2.0 nevertheless arranges for Holmes' release, the inevitable downward spiral will be his fault, and they both know it.

A full smile blooms on Holmes 2.0's face; it's about the last thing Greg expected. "My brother will go to rehab. You will let this whole investigation go, and when Sherlock returns to continue working with you he will be clean."

Greg isn't sure what to make of that. Sure, he's perfectly willing to do that, especially considering that he has little choice in the matter anyway, but he really doesn't like what it implies. That, if Greg doesn't stop the investigation, Holmes 2.0 will _not_ make sure his brother goes to rehab.

Still, it's not like Greg has any real control. He agrees to the deal.

Two months later Holmes returns, acting like nothing at all happened, thinner than before, smoking even more, but clean. This time Greg is watching closer, and he recognises quickly when Holmes relapses. He can also identify a pattern. The less "exciting" the cases, the more sparse, the more bored Holmes gets. And with this boredom comes something else, something that triggers a need in Holmes that can only be abated with white powder in saline solution, filling a syringe, making his blood race.

Greg has never been addicted, but he was young and stupid once. Only once, but that's enough to understand Holmes, to not just turn his back on the man. Greg recognises a need in him, a need for _something_ , a need he tries to cover up with motion and excitement and keeping awake, keeping alert.

Of course, all his understanding doesn't help Holmes one bit, doesn't make him stop or even pause. Greg tries to talk to him once, twice, and then he contacts Holmes 2.0.

"Call me Mycroft," Holmes 2.0 informs him amusedly when Greg awkwardly calls him Mr. Holmes. "As amusing as it is to be called Holmes 2.0, it isn't technically correct seeing as I'm the older one. Besides, despite the circumstances of our meeting I would prefer to be known separately from my brother."

Looks like Greg is going to have to reprogram his phone. And also find out how it could've been so easy for Mycroft to have it hacked.

"Mycroft," he repeats a bit awkwardly. "I'm calling about your brother."

"Of course." Mycroft sounds bored. "Why else." It sounds strange, and Greg makes a mental note to think about this later.

"You know he's using again?"

"Naturally. Unfortunately, my brother isn't exactly inclined to listen to instructions."

That's nothing new. "So you're planning on doing nothing."

Mycroft is quiet for a moment. "Perhaps you and your team could do me the favour of searching my brother's apartment while he resides in the clinic."

"I assume you'll make the evidence go away?" Greg returns dryly. It's a mere formality; he has no interest in prosecuting Holmes.

"Of course."

They make another deal, but this time, Greg keeps in contact with both Holmeses. He's allowed to visit Sherlock once a week (he's not sure this is how rehab is supposed to go) and does his best to keep him entertained with cases; Mycroft must be doing his own part in that. Otherwise, Sherlock would long since have left. There's no doubt in Greg's mind that there is no way to keep Sherlock somewhere he doesn't want to be. Come to think, it's a small wonder he completed the program the first time, not to mention that he's doing it again. He wonders what exactly Mycroft did or said to get Sherlock to stay.

Six weeks into Sherlock's rehab, Greg calls Mycroft – this time not for a perfunctory progress report. "I think Sherlock should move," he says.

Mycroft makes a listening noise, or maybe it's a bored noise; Greg can't quite tell the difference.

"A new environment would be good for him," Greg explains somewhat impatiently. "A new space, somewhere without memories or habits."

"It will be arranged," Mycroft says, hanging up without another word.

It takes Greg a couple of weeks to realise how high the commendation is; that Mycroft listened to his suggestion without any power plays. He becomes aware of it because he is there when Sherlock is released, and Mycroft is as well. Until this point Greg has never experienced both brothers together, not that he realised it until now, and it's startling. There is hostility but it's strangely muted, distant somehow, more like a memory than the actual thing, not that that makes any sense. Less unexpected is the tension that is not uncommon between siblings, especially not with one significantly older sibling that has taken a somewhat parental role and control over the younger sibling's life, and at first it seems like there is no warmth between them at all, but later, the more Greg thinks about it the more he realises that it was there, just very hidden and turned around a couple of times into something almost unrecognisable. They don't hug, there are no touches between the brothers at all, no encouraging words in the traditional sense, but as much as Sherlock protests and hisses and lashes out like stray cat that resists all attempts at being tamed, he doesn't try to move back into his old flat. Not that he could, Greg knows for a fact that the whole building was condemned (he doesn't remember it being that bad but he decides that it's better for everyone involved if he doesn't think about it). But if Sherlock truly doesn't want something, Greg has no doubt that there would be no way to get him to do it.

Still, Sherlock yells at his brother and throws things around that have no doubt been arranged the exact same way Sherlock left them, and Mycroft takes his leave. Not without setting up a meeting with Greg, however, over tea two days later to discuss Sherlock's progress.

Ostensibly. Greg has no illusions on that front; he knows that Mycroft probably knows more about Sherlock's life than even Sherlock himself does, and maybe that's a form of fraternal love as well, even if others would call it control. Maybe it's presumptuous, but he's starting to feel like he knows and understands Mycroft at least a little. Not even enough by half to feed his curiosity and intrigue, of course, but it's something.

So they discuss Sherlock a little, not that there is much to say as of yet, Sherlock is doing his best to get to know his new hunting grounds by prowling his neighbourhood at all hours of night and day, and then they talk about tea and, of all things, liquorice. Apparently Mycroft has a weakness for the salty kind from the Netherlands and has opinions about anything that's available in Britain without importing. Strong opinions at that, as far as Greg can tell, though nothing about Mycroft seems to be strong. He chooses his words carefully no matter the topic, speaks with a calculated, polite steel in his voice that's... well hell, it's attractive. Very much so.

And that. That is not something Greg expected, and he blinks, shocked as anything.

Mycroft smiles at him and says, "Have you finally caught on, detective?" because of course, _of course_ he'd know even before Greg himself does. He's not even surprised.

Greg sputters a little. Mycroft smiles at him enigmatically a little longer and then says, "Of course, chocolate is an issue as well. No matter what anyone says, there is no challenge for Swiss chocolate. Unless we take dark chocolate into consideration, in which case the South Americas are the best option."

That is how one night Greg finds himself surfing the web, looking for chocolate. It's boredom plus insomnia, nothing more, and he maintains that, but he still gets an email from an unknown address that is dead when he tries to reply, containing just the sentence, "For your price range Richard Donnelly would be the best option."

Greg should worry about spyware and hackers and the integrity of his homenetwork, but he doesn't do work on this computer and honestly, it's not like he doesn't know what this is. He's not sure whether Mycroft himself sent the email or one of his associates, but even though technically there is no proof that it was somebody associated with Mycroft at all to begin with, Richard Donnelly chocolate does exist and while it doesn't exactly come cheap, Greg still somehow ends up buying a gift box. He even gets to choose whether or not alcohol, nuts and chipotle (what? Who puts chilli in chocolate?) should be included, how much dark and milk chocolate the box should contain and how big the truffles should be.

The moment he clicks the button that wraps up his order he realises what he's done, but by that point it's already too late. Or maybe it was already too late the moment Greg typed "expensive chocolate" into the search bar. ("Swiss chocolate" wasn't very helpful. Lindt isn't really a proper gift, is it? Greg has seen the brand in too many supermarkets to consider it so.)

Really, Greg isn't even surprised anymore when Mycroft announces his visit the following Saturday, which magically is also the day he receives the chocolate even though it was supposed to take around two weeks to arrive. Greg doesn't even wonder anymore, he just goes with the flow; he has decided that that's the best way to deal with Mycroft and the things that happen around and because of him.

"Why, Gregory, you needn't have," Mycroft says delightedly when he sees the chocolate and selects a piece. Then he puts it in his mouth and closes his eyes with a blissful expression, and that, just. Greg just doesn't know what to make of that, if that's part of it or if Mycroft is honestly enjoying the chocolate that much.

"Hmm, delicious." Mycroft opens his eyes and smiles, and that is definitely on purpose. "Have you had a taste yet?"

Everybody has their limit, and this is Greg's. He says, "No," leans in and kisses Mycroft, licks into his mouth. He tastes chocolate but that's not what makes it good, what sends a pleasant shiver down his back.

When he pulls back Mycroft looks satisfyingly startled, cheeks a little red and lips wet.

"Delicious," Greg says, and Mycroft flushes harder, smiles.


End file.
